Sunday Scribblings #100 — Time Machine


Books about time travel are my guilty pleasure — but there are a few parameters to which they must adhere; the time traveler must travel back in time to Scotland. Only. The hero must be a very tall and muscular warrior and must look stunning in plaid. Or if it is a heroine, she must be beautiful and kind to all but will not be bossed by any man. Oh, and most of the book should be about trying to convince the hero or heroine that their love interest is from the future.

But really, the possibilities of moving through time — it just overwhelms the mind! When would you go, who would you see, what would you say?

I would go back to the late 60’s or early 70’s. The kids I hung around with would go across the border into Canada and go swimming at the dam at Kensington — or was it the bridge that we called it? Anyway — not that’s it’s important to the story — after swimming most of the afternoon or evening away and becoming famished in the process, we would go farther into Canada to Huntington. There was (and quite possibly still is) a greasy spoon called Pevin’s (pronounced pee’-vahns) where they made THE BEST WITHOUT QUESTION hot dogs with chili sauce and french fries smothered with gravy. I would love to taste those again.

I would ask my grandmother and grandfather what their lives were like growing up in the early 1900’s. I would also ask them what their parents were like, and their grandparents. And I would then write it down for my daughter and her daughter, so as not to lose the history, which unfortunately, has been lost. I would go through all of the pictures that were in a big box in a bedroom at my grandparent’s and write on the back who they were and how they would be related to me.

I would steal borrow without intent of returning the picture that hung in Nanny’s living room of our great-grandmother for my sister. Sissy looks like her and I know that she would love it. I hope it fits in the time machine.

I would visit the places of my childhood of which I have fond memories, and I would be sure to take pictures of those places to remind myself that there were good times in my past. Sledding and skating in the winter, swimming at Meacham Lake and Pine Ridge Park in the summer, going to the farm with Grandpa, sitting with Nanny on the sun porch and smelling her Here’s My Heart perfume. Sitting by the wood stove in the kitchen, puddling in the pantry sink with Sissy, sitting with Grandpa and watching Walt Disney on Sunday night. Back then, walking to the store was fun, although it seemed like a much longer walk when I was little. Shorter legs back then, y’know.

Yeah, time travel is still not possible — hang onto all the memories that you can, because you can’t go back and re-experience them!! Write it down, take pictures, talk to the people that are important before they are gone. They are your time machine.

So what’s your time machine? If you have a story that you would like to share, click here for Sunday Scribblings.


Spring-Like Dawn Sockie Update (Sigh)


This yarn has made me into a frogging fool.

My first attempt resulted in a sock with ladders (small ones, but ladders just the same) at the junction of the circular needles. Ripped it down to just past the ladders and started again. Mood is still happy. Wouldn’t do to have socks with flaws like that.

lovebird close up

Second restart — had maybe 4 rows done on gusset, tried it on and realized that my gauge was off — way off. Ripped it back to the cuff. Mood is on the fence — love the yarn but afraid I won’t be able to see well enough switching to size 1’s.

Third try — bit the bullet and changed to size 1 needles. Almost to the heel and noticed that I had dropped a stitch WAY the heck down the leg. Rats and curses. No way was I going after that with a crochet hook.  Wasn’t happy with a couple of small blemishes either that probably could have been blocked out anyway. Mood has crashed. Chocolate ice cream is not far off.

Today’s version — using size 1 needles. Paying extreme attention to needles and checking every row for dropped stitches. No ladders that I am noticing. Haven’t reached the heel flap yet, but seemed okay around the leg when I tried it on. So far, so good. Mood is optimistic.

If I didn’t love this yarn and colorway so much, this could become unpleasant. Back to the sticks. Film at 11.

Andy Rooney and Women Over 40

I’m not a big fan of Andy Rooney, but every now and then he comes up with a real gem.
This is one of those times.

As I grow in age, I value women over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:

A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night and ask, ‘What are you thinking?’ She doesn’t care what you think.

If a woman over 40 doesn’t want to watch the game , she doesn’t sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do, and it’s usually more interesting.

Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won’t hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it’s like to be unappreciated.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 40.

Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They’ll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one. You don’t ever have to wonder where you stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it’s not reciprocal.

For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot woman over 40, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year old waitress.

Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’, here’s an update for you.

Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage.

Why? Because women realize it’s not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage!

Unconscious Mutterings #264


  1. Protocol :: step by step by step
  2. Girlfriends :: close ones, very few — a lot of acquaintances
  3. Shoulders :: stiff
  4. Coming home :: ah!!!
  5. Let it in :: our pinhead of a cat
  6. Honor :: is a lost art
  7. Tyler :: Moore (Mary)
  8. Thriller :: Michael Jackson
  9. Angela :: daughter’s best friend
  10. The winner is :: winner? of what?

Sunday Scribblings #99 Passion


While browsing the Sunday Scribblings posts on this topic, I noticed that the underlying theme of the posts seemed to be:

Passion = intensity

Hmm. Now, I really enjoy doing a lot of things. Knitting, walking, blogging (no duh), photography, sewing, a great cup of coffee. But I don’t recognize myself as being an intense person. I am enjoying this quiet road unfurling in front of me without dips and curves. I don’t believe that translates into a person without passion.

If tomorrow dawned and I was forbidden to participate in any of the activities that I enjoy, my life as I know it would not end. I don’t feel driven to do these things to the exclusion of all else. Well, taking away my coffee might be a bump in the road. Perhaps we could re-negotiate that part.

I know these things:

I know that I am passionately grateful for this wonderful life and my incredible family.

I know that I am passionately at peace and happier right now than at any other time in my life.

And I know that a quiet passion is equal to a passion with burning intensity.

Now, about that coffee…….

coffee cup


What fuels your passion? Click here for Sunday Scribblings.

PhotoHunters #98 Wooden


rocker B

This wooden rocker was the first thing that popped into my mind. It was given to me by my grandmother about 35 years ago. (At the time, my grandmother was in her 70’s, and this chair was given to her when she was young by her mother in law, so it is probably close to 100 years old.) Perhaps given is the wrong word — her exact words were, “it’s a mess, but if you want it, you can take it.”

So I took it and she wasn’t kidding — the caning was ripped out, it had 4 or 5 different layers of paint on it (one of which was red — almost impossible to get completely out) and one rocker was off. I took it and stripped it, sanded it, glued it, polyurethaned it to within an inch of it’s life and then learned how to cane so I could cane it. Very hard on the hands, I don’t recommend it. The wood is maple (birds eye in spots) and the color was very light when I first finished it. The color has aged quite nicely and it’s a gorgeous chair now. I just love to look at it.

It’s also the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat in. So I don’t.

Thanks anyway, Nanny.

An interesting exercise


Just for the heck of it, I let my spam folder fill up for exactly one day. (I usually empty it everytime I log on to check my email.)

I had 100 emails in there

25 were for medications

43 were for (ahem) enlargement concoctions

19 were for watches

8 were for loans and debt consolidation

2 were for shoes

2 were for software

1 was for weight management

Who are the yahoo’s that respond to this detritus? Do the originators of this offal actually make money doing it?

I don’t click on any of it, but just the few words that come up on the subject line make me realize that there must be a lot of sick puppies out there.

I just don’t understand it.